


black, the campaign that ends at last

by quillsand



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dungeons & Dragons Campaign, Gen, technically an everyone lives au i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:01:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25406569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quillsand/pseuds/quillsand
Summary: Suddenly, one of the assailants moves to attack. The man’s fist rises, moving, as if in slow motion, towards Enjolras’ face. The world seems to stop just before it makes contact.“Enjolras,” says Combeferre steadily. “Make a dexterity saving throw."____Les Amis play Dungeons and Dragons; Combeferre is the DM.
Relationships: Les Amis de l'ABC Friendship
Comments: 10
Kudos: 18





	black, the campaign that ends at last

**Author's Note:**

> I promise I'm still working on the epilogue to The Future's Owned by You and Me but I had a DnD session with some friends and this idea just wouldn't leave my head and before I knew it I was staring at 2k words of ridiculously self-indulgent DnD fic. 
> 
> Huge thanks to my friend Rhys for answering all my DnD questions because I'm still a novice and they were extremely patient and helpful in helping me make sure I wasn't breaking any DnD laws.
> 
> CW: death (only in the context of DnD)

Enjolras is in danger. 

Combeferre can see this clearly; whether Enjolras realises or not he can’t be sure, though from the set expression on his face and the way he holds himself ready, it’s possible he suspects that something is wrong. Their assailants haven’t been persuaded by his attempts at diplomacy. For all of his charm, Enjolras has failed to make allies out of the men who now face him down in a dark alleyway. 

He is already bloodied from their last fight- almost all of them are. They’re all hurt, some of them worse off than others and almost all of them will require medical attention of some kind. Enjolras stands at the front of their group, facing down the three assailants with an unflinching air.

Beside him, Courfeyrac fidgets. Joly, standing off to the side, looks apprehensive. Jehan is examining their surroundings thoughtfully whilst Bahorel cracks his knuckles. Bossuet and Feuilly stand at the back, wary. The only one of them who remains unaffected is Grantaire, who simply shrugs when Combeferre catches his eye. He’d warned them, after all, but no one had listened. 

Their path forwards is blocked and behind them, the city burns.

Suddenly, one of the assailants moves to attack. The man’s fist rises, moving, as if in slow motion, towards Enjolras’ face. The world seems to stop just before it makes contact. 

“Enjolras,” says Combeferre steadily. “Make a dexterity saving throw.”

Enjolras groans, but does as instructed. He shakes his dice in his hand a few times before letting it fall. Combeferre peers over at the number and adds Enjolras’ modifier (which is high, because somehow all of Enjolras’ stats are high.) Eighteen. 

“You manage to dodge at the last second; the assailant’s punch misses. Now, everyone roll for initiative.”

They do so; Combeferre calculates the order in his head before nodding to Joly, who is the first to move. 

“I use my movement to move a safe distance away from the assailants. I use my action to turn invisible and my bonus action to cast healing word on Enjolras,” Joly says. Enjolras flashes him a grateful smile as Combeferre nods.

“Make a roll.”

Joly does so. Enjolras regains fifteen health. 

“Cool, okay. That’s convenient, since Enjolras, it’s your go now; what do you want to do?”

“I’m going to make an armed attack with my bayonet.”

“Alright,” says Combeferre. “Roll to see if it hits.”

Enjolras does so; with his proficiency bonus in armed attacks, Combeferre’s not surprised when it ends up hitting. He’s even less surprised when it ends up doing a high amount of damage. “The first assailant is bloodied,” he reports. 

Bahorel cheers. 

“Alright. Grantaire, your go.”

“I cast vicious mockery!”

The party groans. “Of course you do,” says Courfeyrac whilst Jehan mutters something under his breath in- Greek? Combeferre can’t be sure.

“Okay,” says Combeferre. He tries to suppress a grin before he continues; sometimes his friends are endearingly predictable. “And what do you say?”

“I declare that these so called assailants are fools for having dared to cross our party, for we are greater fools, and, more importantly, we are fools who have just defeated a tyrant on the seat of the throne. I tell them that they would be offended at my brazen insults if only they could understand what I was saying, but alas, their brains are too small and their fists too ready. They don’t understand how insulted they should be because they can’t understand the complexities of this thing we call life; that is, indeed, if there’s anything to understand in the first place.”

“Okay,” says Combeferre again as Courfeyrac murmurs _‘same side or not I will knock you out on my turn, I swear to God.’_ He makes a wisdom saving throw for the assailant. It passes.

“Sorry Grantaire,” Combeferre apologises. “No effect.”

Grantaire shrugs and leans back in his seat, smiling. “Worth it.”

“It really wasn’t,” says Courfeyrac.

“Courf!” Combeferre says. “Your go!” 

“I stick my chest out and say ‘your king was a parasite and so are you, it’s only fitting that you’ll follow in his path’ and then I cast firebolt.”

Combeferre smiles. “Okay. The assailants look alarmed at your words but they hold strong. Roll to hit.”

Courfeyrac’s throws are always the most theatrical, even more so than Jehan, who mutters various blessings in languages Combeferre won’t even pretend to know before rolling. Courfeyrac has constructed what appears to be an entire one-man dance routine before he lets his dice fall. 

“It hits,” Combeferre says, looking at the fifteen on the dice. Courfeyrac cheers, already rolling for damage. Combeferre whistles when the dice settle. “You do twenty three damage; the first assailant falls to the floor, dead. His companions look on in shock but you see them grasp their weapons tighter. Which brings us to... Bahorel.”

“Fuck yeah,” says Bahorel. “Right. I’m going to use my movement so that I’m standing right next to the second guy and then use my action and my bonus action to make four unarmed attacks, and then I’m going to use second wind to heal myself.” Bahorel narrates as he speaks; sweeping gestures with his arms that make Combeferre worry for the safety of his DM setup. 

“Okay,” he says, shuffling the cardboard just out of reach. “Roll to hit and then roll for damage.”

Three of Bahorel’s hits land; one misses. He deals twenty one damage to the second assailant. 

“The second assailant is bloodied,” Combeferre says, prompting another cheer. “The third looks uneasy, but stands his ground.”

It’s the assailants go next so Combeferre rolls to make an armed attack against the closest person to him- which happens to be Bahorel. 

“Bahorel, what’s your armour class?”

“Fifteen.”

“Oof,” says Combeferre. “You take ten damage.”

“Aw, c’mon!” 

Combeferre shrugs his shoulders and hides his grin. “Jehan? Your go.” 

Jehan smiles. “I’m going to cast phantasmal force on the second assailant.” 

Combeferre nods, intrigued as to where this is going. Although, this is Jehan, so he has an idea. “Sure, you can do that. I’ll make an intelligence saving throw for the assailant.” 

He does. Twelve. A fail, but just barely. “The illusion is weak, but it works. Do you want to describe what the second assailant sees?”

“Yes please,” says Jehan, grinning. “The second assailant sees a ghost-like figure rise from the body of his deceased friend. The ghost isn’t completely transparent but opaque, and it hovers a few metres off of the ground. It matches the appearance of the dead assailant almost exactly, but maintains the wounds from when he died and there’s something... off, about him. The ghost hovers near the second assailant and whispers to him, but the words are all in a language he can’t understand.”

“Nice,” Bahorel mutters. Jehan beams at him. 

“Do they do anything else? You still have a bonus action if you want to do damage.”

“Nope, that was my only thing.” Jehan says. “It just freaks him out, is all.”

“Okay, he’ll roll with disadvantage from now on.”

Jehan nods, satisfied. 

“Feuilly, you’re up.”

Feuilly startles when Combeferre addresses him, blinking back into his surroundings as if he hadn’t been fully paying attention. “Okay,” says Feuilly carefully. “Uh, I’m far away, right? Can I make a ranged attack with my bow?”

“Sure,” says Combeferre. “You’re at the back so a range attack is a good choice. Roll to see if it hits. You want a D20.”

Feuilly nods, locating the correct dice and rolling it. “Eleven,” he reports.

“Plus your modifier, which makes it fourteen, which-” Combeferre checks his stats “-hits. Roll for damage? D6 plus your strength modifier.” 

Feuilly does so. “Seven.”

“Okay, the second assailant isn’t bloodied yet, but you can tell he’s feeling weaker. Bossuet?”

“Ready.”

“What do you want to do?”

“I’m going to cast Eldritch Blast.”

Another groan from the party. Combeferre bites the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. “Go on then.”

Bossuet extends his arm out to Joly, who presses a kiss against his knuckles. “Thanks babe,” Bossuet says. He rolls. 

It’s a critical miss.

“Oh dear,” says Bossuet. 

“Oh dear is right,” says Combeferre. “Bossuet, not only do you miss, you miss so badly that you end up hitting Enjolras and Bahorel instead.”

“Oh _dear_ ,” says Bossuet, with feeling. 

“Enjolras, Bahorel, make a dexterity saving throw.” 

They do. Enjolras passes; Bahorel does not. Combeferre winces. “Five damage,” he says.

“Are we back at the start yet?” Asks Bahorel. Combeferre nods. “Joly, my pal, my best bud, my saviour, I would really appreciate some of that sweet sweet healing magic just about now.”

Joly rolls his eyes but smiles. “I use my action to throw my handaxe at the second assailant.” A pause. “ And I use my bonus action to cast healing word on Bahorel.” 

He rolls before Combeferre even has to instruct it; his hit lands and deals eight damage to the assailant. Bahorel regains twelve health points. 

“Thanks bud,” Bahorel says.

“Aaaand, the second assailant is now dead,” Combeferre reports. Bossuet leans over and places a kiss against Joly’s cheek as Bahorel ruffles his hair. “The third assailant is glancing behind him warily; you can see the reluctance to fight flash in his eyes before his expression turns stony. He is now all that separates you from your victory.”

Combeferre watches his friends digest this information, gives it a minute to settle in; once they’ve cleared this obstacle they’ve almost succeeded in their quest. A six-month long campaign of plotting to overthrow the crown is coming to an end, Combeferre can see their adventures played back before him and he smiles.

“Enjolras,” says Combeferre bringing them back to the present, “back to you.”

Enjolras’ expression is set. “I am going to try and convince him one last time to leave.”

Behind Enjolras, Combeferre sees Grantaire roll his eyes. He smiles. “Okay, go ahead and roll for persuasion.” 

Enjolras does so; Courfeyrac whistles when the dice lands and Combeferre sees why as soon as he looks over; a natural twenty. 

“Okay,” Combeferre nods; he isn’t even trying to hide his grin anymore. A critical hit plus Enjolras’ insanely high charisma modifier? It isn’t even a question. “What do you say to make him leave?”

“I tell him that there has been far too much death tonight. That although I use death when it is necessary in our path, I hate to do so, and would avoid it where possible. I beg of him to change his ways; we are no longer living under the heel of a monarch and so he is no longer obligated to impose tyranny. He can find a different profession and make a more honest living. I ask him that he not only save himself, but also save us the task of killing him; he knows he will not survive this encounter otherwise and although his friends may be dead, he does not have to condemn himself to the same fate, or us to ours.”

The party is quiet in the wake of Enjolras’ words. 

“Enjolras, have you ever considered going into speech writing?” asks Feuilly after a moment or two has passed. Laughter passes through the party and Combeferre finds himself joining in. 

“He is convinced by your words,” says Combeferre once he’s composed himself. “He eyes you warily before throwing down his weapon and running off the way that he came. Your path forwards is clear.”

The party cheer. 

**Author's Note:**

> As previously stated I'm not an expert at DnD, I've been playing for a few months at most, so let me know if there's anything glaringly wrong!
> 
> A few things:  
> \- I haven't included specific references to race or class for Les Amis because I'm still working out my headcanons for them but there are a few things I've included that I'm pretty sure on (e.g Grantaire playing as a bard, Bahorel a fighter, Courfeyrac some sort of fire mage because my fave fandom trope is Courfeyrac + fire)  
> \- I know in DnD the aim is to roleplay as a character and not yourself but also I didn't want to complicate it and end up with another accidental multichapter. Maybe one day.  
> \- Les Amis can have a little successful insurrection... as a treat.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! I'd love to know what you thought (and any DnD headcanons anyone has) so feel free to leave a comment! You can also find me on Tumblr @thelawsofdaylight :)


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